


three times arthur fails at proposing (and one time he sweeps merlin off his feet)

by gwencelot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Schmoop, absolute schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwencelot/pseuds/gwencelot
Summary: It isn’t that Arthur needs to one-up everyone, exactly. It’s just that he’s – well, Arthur.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hot damn. This is one I started a long time ago and just got around to finishing up. I'm really trying to get back into the swing of things.
> 
> Disclaimer: This never happened, I own nothing, and I have no idea how making a newspaper works.

It isn’t that Arthur _needs_ to one-up everyone, exactly. It’s just that he’s – well, _Arthur_.

And he can’t just pretend that he hasn’t seen the longing looks on Merlin’s face when he goes through Gwen and Lance’s elaborate wedding album, no matter how much he insists he doesn’t want all that fuss.

That’s how Arthur finds himself in the park across from Merlin’s work office, shooing people away from the fountain where the choir he’s hired are standing.

“Okay, he’ll be here any minute; he always drops a coin in before he comes home,” Arthur stands up taller, smoothing a hand down his shirt as he speaks. “Is everyone ready?”

Each person in the group murmurs some sort of agreement, and for a second, Arthur believes this will go perfectly. Then the clumsy blond at the end of the line gets her foot caught in her robe. Arthur watches, almost as if in slow motion, as she fumbles to catch her balance and knocks into the taller girl beside her, and she into the next person, until they’re all toppling backwards into the fountain like dominoes. He winces at the loud splash, almost unable to believe what just happened.

This, of course, is when Merlin leaves work and wanders into the park. His eyes light up when he spots the familiar face, even though the curl of his mouth shows confusion.

“Arthur?” He walks into the blonde’s arms happily, and Arthur squeezes him with a sigh, eyes drifting to the fountain to make sure everyone is okay. They are; they’re _laughing_. He doesn’t get his money back.

 

** \------------ **

 

Not to be completely deterred, Arthur waits until Merlin has gone to work the next day before flipping furiously through the phone book and ringing the local florist, ordering a dozen bouquets of the one flower Merlin’s pollen allergy tolerates – pink orchids. The woman on the other end of the phone coos about the meaning of the flower, pure affection and things like that, but Arthur is too busy thinking about how Merlin will look when he sees them, eyes wide and shining.

The doorbell rings half an hour later, and Arthur is impressed. He straightens his collar and opens the door, met with raised eyebrows from the bored looking delivery boy. He has a few bouquets in his arms and a bag slung over his shoulder – but, upon closer inspection, Arthur sees –

“Those aren’t orchids.”

The delivery boy snaps his gum and shrugs, stepping forward and shoving the flowers against Arthur’s chest quite unceremoniously. “Ain’t my problem, mate.”

Arthur frowns down at the flowers and the bag that has now been pushed into the flat, an ugly black lump representing another obstacle in Arthur’s plans.

“Actually it is your problem, _mate_ ,” Arthur tries, unsuccessfully, to transfer the flowers back to the delivery boy. “My boyfriend’s allergic to everything but orchids. I can’t give these to him.”

“Still ain’t my problem. I don’t sell ‘em, I just bring ‘em.” He smiles crookedly, holding out a gloved hand. “That’ll be one hundred pounds.”

“One hundred-?!” Arthur splutters, cursing himself for not asking how much they were while he was on the phone. He sighs and balances the flowers on one arm, fishing around for his wallet with the other.

When the delivery boy has finally left, Arthur glares around at the petals littered on his floor and stuffs all of the bouquets with the others into the bag. He leaves it by the door, making a mental note to take them out with the garbage later. He’ll just have to think of something else – again.

By the time Merlin is home, the bag is gone, the petals have been swept up, and any evidence of Arthur’s failed attempt at romance is gone. It’s a pity, but he’s not going to take any chances with Merlin’s allergies.

“How was work?” Arthur asks, pausing his channel surfing in favor of watching Merlin toss his keys on the kitchen table and shuck off his coat. He then stumbles into the adjoined living room, collapsing on the couch next to Arthur with a groan.

“Ungh.”

“Typically a conversation is conducted through the use of words, Merlin.”

“Prat,” Merlin sighs, lifting himself enough to scoot over and lean his head on Arthur’s shoulder, pouting up at him. Arthur curls an arm around him, pulling him closer and pressing a kiss against his temple. They settle against each other, content with the low light and volume of the television in the background. A few minutes later, Merlin starts sniffling, and Arthur looks down, alarmed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You smell… flowery?”

“Oh,” Arthur pauses, remembering how he’d held the flowers against his chest and probably should have changed his shirt. A glance at Merlin’s face confirms this. “Merlin, your cheek - !”

“Hm?” Merlin lifts a hand from Arthur’s chest and rubs absently at the cheek that was resting, eyes growing wide when he feels the swelling.

“Shit.”

 

** \------------ **

 

Arthur wakes up the next morning in the hospital, back aching due to having spent the night in a plastic chair by Merlin’s bed. Merlin is already awake, smiling down at him and playing with his hair, face back to its normal size. Arthur groans, planting his face into the bed and leaving it there as he gropes blindly for Merlin’s hand.

“I’m an idiot.”

“No argument here.”

 

** \------------ **

 

This is _the one_. Arthur knows it. And not just because if this goes badly again he may just lose all of his confidence in himself.

Also because he’s enlisted Gwen’s help, and Gwen is the most reliable person he knows – after her husband, of course. They really are a terribly perfect match.

This approach is more subtle, not nearly as extravagant as Arthur had started out, but it’s got promise.

“I knew I kept you around for a reason,” Arthur teases as he waits for Gwen to present the final draft of the ad they’d drawn up – being lifelong friends with the owner of _Camelot Weekly_ has always had its perks, but this is by far the biggest favor he’s ever asked of her. A full page ad is a good chunk of money Gwen is giving up in advertising, but Arthur will make it up to her – and he knows she's excited to be a part of his big plan.

“Here it is!” Gwen gushes finally, pulling a page off the press and presenting it to him with a wide smile. Arthur skims over it, lips mouthing the words printed in large block letters as he reads them: _Marry me, Merlin?_

“Guinevere, it’s perfect,” he says, handing it back to her and pulling her in for a tight hug. “These will be out tomorrow, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Gwen confirms, carefully placing the page in a bin where the rest will go. “I’ll have one delivered to your flat.”

“You’re the best!” Arthur calls as he backs out of the office, and Gwen’s smile turns small, fond.

“I know.”

 

** \------------ **

 

Arthur allows himself a lie-in the next morning; after all, it’s going to be a big day. He deserves it.  
  
When he wakes up it’s to the sound of banging noises coming from the kitchen, and he smiles widely as he stretches, ready to set his plan in motion.  
  
Merlin is bopping around the kitchen in nothing but a pair of low-hanging boxers (they’re Arthur’s, of course, the little thief), hair sticking out in every direction, mouth hanging open in a sleepy pout. Arthur loves him, so much.  
  
“Morning,” Arthur says, leaning against the door frame. It seems as if Merlin’s been awake for a while – the kitchen is alive with clutter, bowls full of a white substance covering the table.  
  
“Hey!” Merlin says cheerfully, making his way over to plant a kiss on Arthur’s cheek. He returns to his mess, long fingers working with some sort of bendable wire, pulling it into shape. “Got inspiration for a project when I woke up,” he explains, seemingly satisfied with the shape he’s made and moving on. “There was a paper delivered today. Made me think.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Arthur grins to himself, hand moving quickly to cover his mouth, heart rising to his throat. “Interesting articles, huh?”  
  
“Not sure,” Merlin replies, and Arthur’s smile falters. He realizes, suddenly, eyes zoning in on Merlin’s hands, that he appears to be picking up strips of paper from the table.  
  
“Wait – Merlin, where’s the paper?” He tries and fails to sound casual as Merlin picks one up and dips it in one of the bowls.  
  
“It was perfect – I haven’t done papier-mache in so long!” Merlin continues, completely oblivious. He slaps the wet paper on the mass of craft wire, and that’s when it finally sinks in. Arthur groans, turning around to bang his forehead directly on the door frame, resisting the urge to claw his eyes out.  
  
“What is it?” Merlin asks, looking around at the _thunk_. “Headache?” He asks sympathetically, turning back around to continue working on his project. Arthur sighs.  
  
“You have no idea.”

 

** \------------ **

 

Morgana saunters into his office the next time he’s planning; he’s got an outline and everything. With _bullet points_.

“What’s this? My brother is actually working?” she presses a hand to her chest in fake surprise, leaning over and snatching the paper before he can stop her.

“Er… of a sort.”

Morgana crinkles her nose as she reads. “’Moonlit beach? Billboard?’” Her eyes widen as she gets to the bottom. “’Fireworks spelling out ‘will you marry me?’’ Oh, _Arthur_ ,” she hands back the paper with a smile, shaking her head.

“I thought that was a good one,” he protests, absently scratching ‘Morgana is a hussy’ into a corner of the page.

“I can see that. And Arthur,” she sighs, perching herself on the edge of his desk and getting the look on her face she usually does when she’s about to treat him like he’s incredibly stupid. Arthur hates that look. “It’s not about the way you do it. You know as well as I do that Merlin will say yes no matter how it goes.”

And Arthur does, somewhere inside himself, know this. But a larger part of him wants it to be something to remember forever, a proposal worthy of the history books.

“Merlin deserves the best,” he says slowly, tearing a small strip of paper and balling it up between his fingers. “Merlin deserves everything.”

Morgana looks at him almost fondly then (or maybe it’s just the light), and Arthur throws the paper at her cheek with a scowl.

“Whatever you choose will be lovely,” she smirks, getting up and starting for the door. “Enjoy the post-proposal sex.”

Her tinkling laughter overpowers Arthur’s sputters as she leaves.

 

** \------------ **

 

In the end, he combines two of the ideas; it’s too cold to actually go out and sit on the beach, but Arthur drives them to the shore of the nearest one and parks just off of the sand where they have a clear view of the horizon. They sit quietly together as the sun sets, and a dark calm sets over the water.

“You’ve been awfully mysterious about today,” Merlin says eventually, aiming a teasing smile in Arthur’s direction. It’s true; Arthur had swept Merlin out of their flat as soon as he’d gotten home, without a word as to why they were going for a drive. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”

Arthur taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a nervous rhythm, glancing quickly at his watch. He’d requested that the fireworks go off at exactly eight; only a few minutes to go. “I know I’ve been – busy, lately,” he begins. Merlin makes a small noise of acknowledgement with a shrug, always understanding. “There’s a reason for that.”

“There’s a reason for everything you do,” Merlin says with a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. Arthur brings a hand up to rest on the side of Merlin’s face, thumb caressing his cheek gently. Merlin leans into it, a small, confused smile on his lips. “What’s going on, Arthur?”

Arthur pulls back to check his watch again; one minute. He reaches into his pocket for the box the ring is nested in, wincing when he feels the sweat of his hand sticking to it.

“Hey, did you see that?” He points over the dashboard with his other hand, and Merlin’s eyes follow, allowing Arthur a second to pull the box out. And promptly drop it on the floor. “Fuck – “ he says, leaning down at the same time Merlin says, “Oh, I’ll get that – “

They meet in the middle, heads banging together. Arthur hears popping noises and looks up wildly, just in time to see the fireworks fading, the fallout streaming to the ground. If Arthur hadn’t known what had just happened, he’d have thought there was a spontaneous meteor shower.

“What was that?” Merlin looks around, the lights reflecting orange in his blue, blue eyes. It’s beautiful. _He’s_ beautiful. And Arthur’s messed it all up, _again_. “What’s this?”

“Merlin, I’m sorry,” he begins, pausing when Merlin raises his hand, and in it – the box. The _ring_. He reaches forward instinctively, but Merlin pulls back, raising his eyebrows at Arthur in an _Is this what I think it is_? sort of way. At least, that’s how Arthur interprets it. “Merlin… I didn’t want it to be like this.”

There’s an unreadable look on Merlin’s face now as he looks down, opening the box carefully, mouth dropping open slightly at the sight of the ring. He pulls it out, holding it between them.

“What – what do you mean?” He croaks. Arthur takes the ring, sighing.

“I wanted so much more for you – I’ve been _trying_ , but nothing’s turned out right,” Arthur tries not to let his frustration get to him. After all, it’s not Merlin’s fault that he’s apparently completely incapable of romance and grandeur. He looks up from under his eyelashes, meeting Merlin’s eyes with a sheepish smile. “Would you believe this is the fourth time I’ve tried to propose?”

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin says with a shake of his head, sounding annoyingly like Morgana. “You should have just _asked_. You know I don’t need all of that…” he makes a flailing motion with his hand, and Arthur completely understands what he means. There’s a comfortable silence between them before Merlin nudges his arm with his own, a small smile taking over his face. “Well?”

“Well?” Arthur grouses, nudging him back even harder. “I pour my bloody heart out and all I get is – “

“Arthur!” Merlin laughs, letting the box fall from his hands and surging forward, reeling Arthur in for a searing kiss. “Are you going to ask me to marry you or not?”

“Oh,” Arthur frowns, realization hitting him a bit too late. “Oh! Y- Merlin, will you – “

“Yes!” And suddenly he’s got an arm full of Merlin, holding him awkwardly over the seat divider, too cramped in the small space of his car. It’s perfect. He smiles softly, turning his face into the warmth of Merlin’s neck, placing a small, secret kiss on the skin there.

“Morgana is going to be insufferable about this,” he complains, and he feels Merlin’s laugh down to his very bones.


End file.
